Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 163540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 818(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 818(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
Everyone says that Enrico is the vision of his father—like him in personality, too. I can’t imagine loving him like I do, while he loved another. To have him leave me every week to go to her would remove a piece of my heart every time he left.
It seems like the slowest, cruelest form of torture.
“Aye, aye, what’s this?” Maso asks.
Lights flash on the road ahead, and we look up to see a man with an orange roadworks flag pulling cars over. He directs us to pull to the side, and the men in the front all shuffle about in their jackets.
Enrico immediately bends and rustles around under the seat. He takes a gun out and tucks it into his suit jacket.
My eyes widen. What the fuck? What’s he doing?
Is something happening right now?
I hold my breath as my heart begins to thump hard in my chest.
The man comes up to the window, and Maso smiles casually as he winds it down. “Buonasera, agente.” Translation: good evening, officer.
The policeman nods and looks into the car with a torch. He shines it in everyone’s faces.
“Qual è il problema?” Maso asks. Translation: what seems to be the problem?
“Ha un documento d’identità?” Translation: do you have identification?
Maso takes his license out and passes it over. The policeman studies it.
“Apra il bagagliaio.” Translation: open the trunk.
Maso motions to open his door.
“Rimanga dentro la macchina.” Translation: stay inside the car.
Another policeman comes over, and they look through the trunk together while we all remain silent.
“Dove sta andando?” the officer asks. Translation: where are you going?
“Riportando a casa il signor Ferrara. Sono la sua guardia del corpo.” Translation: driving Mr. Ferrara home. I am his security.
The policeman’s face falls and he looks into the backseat with his torch. He immediately bows his head.
“Mi scusi, signor Ferrara. Buonanotte, signore.” Translation: my apologies, Mr Ferrara. Have a nice night, sir.
“Cosa state cercando?” Enrico asks. Translation: what are you looking for?
“Abbiamo un evaso che si ritiene stia fuggendo in questa direzione. Fate attenzione stanotte.” Translation: we have a prison escapee who is believed to be heading this way. Be careful tonight.
He hands Maso’s license back to him and waves his flag. We pull back out into the traffic. Enrico and the men continue on as if nothing has happened.
I stare out the window into the darkness with my heart hammering in my chest. He has a gun. He has a fucking gun in his car. They all have them.
Who do they think is coming for them?
And why are they all so fucking prepared for it?
For the rest of the trip, I pretend to sleep. My mind, however, is anything but relaxed. I just saw it with my own eyes, as casual as casual can be. The crime. It’s still alive and well.
They honestly believe that someone is coming for Enrico.
They thought it was an ambush, and they were armed and ready. They were calm, cool, and collected. Fear is filtering through my bloodstream. Who would want my man harmed, and what the actual fuck is going on around here?
I feel sick.
Enrico reaches forward and tucks his gun back under his seat. He picks up my hand, kisses my fingertips, and rests it down onto his thick thigh.
I watch him in the darkness as he stares straight ahead, unrattled.
Focused.
Who the hell am I in love with?
25
Olivia
Half an hour later, the car pulls into Oliviana.
“We are home,” Enrico says with a soft smile.
I wait in my seat as Maso comes around and opens my door. I get out and look around me. Two other cars have pulled up behind ours. They were obviously following us home. Enrico begins to chat with one of the men in the car behind us, and I watch him converse with them. He chuckles at something someone says, and they all break into chatter.
Totally at ease.
This is his normal. This is his safety net. He turns and notices me standing on the spot, and he comes over to take my hand.
“Come, Olivia.”
He leads me into the house and shuts the door behind us. He puts his arm around me and pulls me close, kissing my temple carefully before we turn and walk through to the kitchen. Antonia is cooking dinner.
She turns to us with a big smile. “Ciao, signorina Olivia.”
“Ciao.” I smile. I’ve been practicing what to say to her. “Grazie per aver cucinato la cena.” Translation: thank you for cooking dinner.
Enrico’s eyes glow with tenderness as he watches us.
“Ha un profumo straodinario,” he says. Translation: it smells amazing.
Her mouth falls open and she claps her hands together. “Signorina Olivia, così bella in italiano.” Translation: Miss Olivia, so beautiful in Italian.
I smile bashfully. “Grazie.”
Enrico goes to the fridge and takes out a bottle of wine. He collects two crystal glasses, too, and I watch as he pours us both one.